Gravel
by kittymchale
Summary: Where would you go if you had a chance to get up and leave? Would you go with Quinn Fabray?


**a/n: I was a bit cautious in posting this, just because I'm not sure it'll be understood? I don't know. Hopefully, I'll continue this.**

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Somehow, they had ended up in New York. At least, that's what the sign said. The trunk of Artie's slightly edited (and functional) Station Wagon was folded out, Quinn perched tiredly on the edge with a coffee cup in between her hands and a cigarette hanging out the corner of her mouth. Artie was still asleep, stretched out in the trunk of the car. The blanket was tied up around his feet, arms wrapped securely around Quinn's pillow. Quinn lifted her head up a little further to the air, birds swirving around the sky and leaving various chirps and squawks behind them. Quinn rolled her eyes, flicking the ashes off the end of her cigarette. Her eyes trailed down to her own skin, dragging a hand over the dirt on her arms and scraped knees, worn from the nights of attempting to sleep in the back of Artie's damn car, inside the tiny tent they had brought or just on the ground, annoyed by the drooling and snoring. Sleeping within 10 feet of Artie was similar to sleeping next to a gigantic baby, arms threatening to fly toward you any second.

After the nearly 2 weeks of driving on and off whenever the hell Quinn felt like it, they ended up here. This place called New York, but had been stripped of it's cities, lights, sound (besides the birds) and common sense. The car was clunked to a stop on some hillside, the gravel ready to crunch at any instance under them. Quinn kicked her feet a little more, scooping up gravel with the toes of her sandals and flinging the rocks as far as she can. A faint rustling was heard a little further up from her, a deer poking it's head out of the brush. It blinked at her, eyes locked ahead at the car. Flinging her arms out and thrusting her chest forward, Quinn stared back at it.

"What do you want?" She growled at it, hauling a rock out of her shoe at the animal's face. Artie lifted his head, arching a tired eyebrow at Quinn.

"What the hell are you doing?" He sat up, attempting to rub the tiredness out of his eyes. Watching the deer scamper away, he rolled his eyes at the back of the girl's head, "Yelling at deer isn't nice, Fabray." He searched the back for his glasses, wrapping his fingers around them and perching them on his nose.

"There's nothing else to do out here. Why did we choose to come to New York in the first place? We're too poor to get to the city, anyway," Quinn grunted, flicking the ashes off the end of her cigarette again. She stuck the end back between her lips, inhaling and leaning her head back against the car. Wedging it between her fingers, she dangled the end over the gravel.

"Maybe if you stopped smoking," Artie growled, knocking the cigarette out of Quinn's hand, "We would have some money." He started pulling a dirty t-shirt on, clearing his throat, "And stop wearing my shirts." Quinn whipped around, squinting hard at him. She smacked his arm with the back of his hand, sticking her coffee on the roof of the car and yanking the shirt off her back.

"Fine," She threw the t-shirt into his face, jumping off the back of the car and standing in front of him, "Stop _wasting_ that money. Give me a shirt." She crossed her arms, waiting. The air found its way down her spine, chilling her a bit. The air couldn't move her. She wouldn't budge. Artie crossed his arms right back, watching a car roll past without her making a move.

"Fine," He grumbled back, throwing a tank top at her (which he wasn't totally sure was hers or not). He watched her pull it on, her back arching as she leaned over to grab the falling cigarette. She relit it, cupping the flame in her hand. She took a long pull on it, smirking at him.

"See? Was that so hard?" Quinn grinned sarcastically at him, "Don't fuck with me, sweetie." Stomping around to the passengers seat, she plopped herself into it and waited for Artie to make his way around front. This is about how every day started with them, but somehow, they still managed to stay alive on tension and gas station food.

Artie hooked an arm around the back seat to look at her. He shook his head, snorting, "I would watch it, _princess._ I'm the only one that can drive this piece of shit." Quinn didn't look at him, smirking to herself and dangling her hand out the window. He stared at her for a second, waiting for a response, "Alright," He said, knowing he wouldn't get what he was looking for. Pulling on a pair of shorts, Artie shut the trunk and made his way to the drivers seat through the back, buckling himself in.

"How much longer do you think we're gonna be able to pay for?" Quinn asked, still staring out the windshield and running a hand through her vaguely pink hair. Artie leaned his head against the headrest of the driver's seat, closing his eyes. He fumbled for the coffee Quinn made him every morning, waiting in the cupholder next to him without fail. Taking a scalding sip from it, he let out a short sigh.

"I'm not sure. Ten, maybe. That's just because gas is getting a little more expensive and so is going to the laundromat. You really should have planned this out a little better," He squinted of her out of his peripherals.

The '_this_' Artie was referring to wasn't actually planned at all and could be traced back to a day earlier in the summer were Quinn decided that she'd had enough and needed to get out of Lima. Artie remembered that day quite often, because her visit had been very random and something that he'd never expect from her.

She had pulled up to his house, her bags already packed in the backseat with whatever other random things she had thought she needed. That included the money that they would be surviving off of. Quinn hopped out of the car that her parents had frequently called "the jelly bean" because of it's size. Her feet hit the perfectly paved surface of the sidewalk in front of Artie's house, her sandals practically gliding over the ramp to the front door. She shifted her weight to one foot, rapping a few times on the door and waiting for a response. Artie had rolled up unexpectedly to the door with his parents in the living room, staring up at the girl behind the door.

"Don't freak out, but come with me for a second," Quinn whispered to him, stepping outside of the door to let the boy in front of her roll a little closer, "Come on. What are you waiting for?" She whispered a little more harshly, Artie moving up and closing the door to talk to her.

"Quinn. I'm a little confused. Since when do you talk to me?" Artie asked, arching a confused eyebrow up at her and licking his lips a little nervously. She rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

"Grow some balls and stop freaking out. I have a proposition. You've got that beautiful, spacious Station Wagon with a perfect trunk for laying down in," Quinn started, Artie's mouth going dry and starting to stutter. He blinked at her, swallowing. She shook her head, setting her hands on his shoulders forcefully, "We're _not_ going to fuck if that is what you're thinking. I'm just thinking a road trip. I've got money, you've got a car. I just need to get out of here. That's all. By the look on your face, you've gotta get out of here and away from your parents, too. We could tell them it's a trip for something more important than just getting away. Whatever. Lie to them or something," She paused and dug some money out of her pocket, "What do you say?"

And with that, Quinn somehow convinced Artie to leave his comfort and his safety, leaving on a month-long endeavor with a girl he barely knew.

"I could have, if I wanted to. Whatever. It's more fun this way," Quinn smirked to herself, looking ahead at the road, "Are we going to get out of here?" Her words weren't meant out of malice, but they usually ended up that way. It's not like she hated Artie. He was a nice companion and she wouldn't have picked anyone else to go on this trip with her if she had a chance to rethink it. They actually had a lot of good times together when they weren't yelling at each other.

She looked out at the road again, the story in the gravel unfolding, twisting and turning out in front of her. It could lead anywhere, and she had all the power to control that. At that moment, Quinn felt bigger than the sky. She had strong, lighthouse arms that could control their safety. She had a strong will and a book of solutions to anything that could go wrong (duct tape). She was bigger than Ohio and Wisconsin and New York and the grease stains on her fingers. She was on top of the world, and Artie was right there with her. He was bigger than her, even. He had more power and stood taller than her, even with his mobility folded up in the back seat.

There they were. Two giants with all the stories in the world.

"Well. We wouldn't need to plan if you would stop spending our money on cigarettes," Artie smirked, speeding off. Their marker stood right where they were, spilled all over the pavement. Quinn's coffee. Yet again.


End file.
